


And What Sort Of Time Do You Call This?

by impossiblesongs



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Clara/Pond bonding ftw, F/M, Twelve is a secret grumpy romantic pass it on, also never let it be forgotten that the Tardis has a thing for Rory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘YOU ARE LATE FOR YOUR OWN WEDDING’</i> – The Doctor receives a message from his previous self on the physic paper.  (Also known as the timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly situation that landed the Doctor's Eleventh a month with the otters that one time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And What Sort Of Time Do You Call This?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer.  
> AN: This was supposed to be 2000 words or less. Oh, well. This is all timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly( which made it ULTRA fun to work with) but that means this entire fic takes place from back to front and then to now, etc, so please try and keep up. Episode tags at endnotes.

The Tardis doors opened and he was out, landing on his buttocks into a puddle while the Old Girl’s doors slammed shut and she dematerialized.

 

“ _RIVAH_!” he shouted after them both, only to awaken the otter’s nest he’d noticeably been stranded at.

 

He frowned at the furry animal mutterings about his shirt and looked down. His jaw nearly unhinged as he gaped and noticed that yes, yes indeed. There was a rather horrible River-sized footprint splayed right across his chest and it hurt very, very much.

 

“Whatever it is, I haven’t done it yet.” He defended to the otters. “MEANING I DON’T DESERVE THIS!” that, he directed at his wife, long gone now in _his_ Tardis.

 

Now the otters were mocking his bowtie, this was just wonderful.

 

 

*

 

 

‘ _YOU ARE LATE FOR YOUR OWN WEDDING’_ says the message on his psychic paper, in handwriting that he’s all too familiar with. The penmanship used to be his own.

 

“What are you squinting at?” asks Clara from the other side of the console. Met with silence, she walks nearer and tries to look over the Doctor’s shoulder, having to get on her tiptoes to read the note. He knows when she’s caught on, clever girl. And, well, the gasp is enough to go on too.

 

“That’s…”

 

“I know.” He says, folding the psychic paper and shoving it back into his top pocket.

 

“That’s your handwriting!” She exclaims, all eyes and all on him.

 

“I think we’ve covered that, Clara.” He says, mildly irritated that Clara seems to want to go on about it. He starts walking around and away from her. Perhaps he’ll have a better chance at throwing her and her owlish eyes off his case by looking busy, so up the stairs he goes. His fingers brush over titles from the rows of books that now line his Tardis.

 

“But that’s your handwriting!” Clara insists, keeping up with his long strides. “The first you I met! That’s… that’s River’s Doctor!”

 

He stops, abruptly turning to face her. She has to duck away from his finger now pointing at her, nearly jabbing her eye out.

 

“Don’t.” he warns softly.

 

“But,” And Clara huffs, hands placed on her waist – very school teacher – as she tries to come up with something not just good and clever, but something that will make him stop and _look_.

 

“Doctor, that message.” She tries again. “If it’s from you then don’t you suppose it’s best that you answer it?”

 

“The past is the past.” He replies breezily, picking out some books and balancing them in his arms. “Long gone away is the past. No use mucking about there. Today is not a day for the past, Clara Oswald!” he proclaims, an eyebrow perking upward just for added effect. “Besides, we’ve got the future. Lots of stuff happening, and I mean _lots_. Too much to cover in one day.”

 

He picks out some other volumes and hands them over to Clara, beckoning her to follow after him with a nod. They place the books down on the desk. The Doctor sighs, somewhat dismayed at the prospect of just how time consuming his plans for the day will prove. “We best get started anyway.”

 

Clara gets that upset look upon her face and very rudely retrieves the psychic paper from his person by force. He can only gape at her while she flips it open again, reads it to herself, and then turns it to him. It glares back at him openly, accusingly.

 

“The past is happening right now.” States Clara. “Your wife is waiting for you, somewhere out there. Why would you run from that?”

 

The Doctor snatches the psychic paper back and reluctantly gives it another read.

 

_‘YOU ARE LATE FOR YOUR OWN WEDDING’_

 

The thing is, he doesn’t recall another wedding in his previous life that he’d not attended. None proved quite as exciting as the first. The one on top of a pyramid, in a time that never was, to the woman who he can barely name aloud let alone drop everything and go see again, alive and in the flesh. He’d had other marriages of course, but the one(s) with River had been different and eclipsed a whole new meaning onto the whole marriage thing. It had been fun most times. When it could be, that is.

 

His past had been hazy in the first days with this new face but he’s got the right of it now. Almost. He wonders why this supposed happening requiring his presence doesn’t seem to fit into the mix. Why this? Why _now_?

 

The Tardis herself starts to get all wheezy and groany over it and he can’t very well ignore his ship when she’s like that. She’d prove difficult to move in such moods.

 

“I don’t even remember this wedding.” He admits quietly and eyes the ring on his ring finger.

 

“Well,” Clara bites on her bottom lip, taking the psychic paper from him and tucking it back in his top pocket, “put two and two together, my bet is you obviously weren’t there.”

 

“I think you might be right, Teach.” He whispers, chancing a glance at his companion.

 

He didn’t think much of the man he used to be had lived on in this face however missing out on anything having to do with River doesn’t seem to sit well with this face either. The uneasiness that creeps up on him makes him feel like he’s unhinging slightly from the inside out. It’s unpleasant and he doesn’t like it.

 

“I don’t remember writing this message to myself either.” He tells Clara. That earns him a delighted chuckle.

 

“God,” Clara shakes her head happily, “I thought we’ve been through this one already. Have you met you?”

 

“A wedding.” He says, getting a feel of how the word tastes with this new mouth, and he scowls. Clara’s already on her way back down to the side of the console and awaits him to pilot them to their destination.

 

While he takes his time setting the coordinates the Doctor wonders, for the briefest of seconds, if Clara is pushing for this only to get a glimpse of the old him, the man he used to be, but he shrugs the worry off with a grimace. Going by the message sent his previous self is otherwise occupied so there’ll be no chance of meeting himself in any way, shape or form. Besides, there were other very troublesome things that required his full attention. Like playing the groom, for instance. That one’s at top priority.

 

“This is a horrible, beyond horrible idea.” He tells her just before takeoff.

 

“Shut up and drive or we’ll be late.” Bosses Clara.

 

“Whatever you say, teach.” He says, and then they’re off.

 

 

*

 

 

River paced back and forth in her glorious white wedding gown. It was the first actual wedding dress she’d agreed to ever put on and he who must not be named – as she dubbed him – was nowhere to be found.

 

“I’m going to kill him.” she muttered, a deadly calmness accompanied that spooked her mother to no ends. River glanced down at her palms with the upmost concentration, “This time it will be with my bare hands.”

 

“She’s joking!” Amy insisted nervously to the wide-eyed stares the guest took to giving her daughter before dragging River off into the adjacent room. “How about we please put the psychopathic death threats away for a bit and use them when that husband of yours actually does show up, yeah?”

 

River gaped at her mother, outraged by the apparent nonchalance. Amy quickly made amends to that, reminding River that her grandparents were among the guests invited today.

 

“I’m sorry, mum.” River’s voice wobbled. “It’s just….” And she gestured to the gown she was wearing. “Look at me! I promised myself I’d never do this! This is why I’m not a wedding person! I look _ridiculous_! And I’m angry! Angry over a marriage that already _is_! So I really have no reason to be so upset right now!”

 

“You have every reason to be angry about this.” Amy told her daughter, wiping away the tears now glistening down River’s cheeks without abandon. “ _I’d_ be angry. I am. You’re in a dress too beautiful to be spent on tears. And, by the by, you’re going to have to get in line to kill him. Your dad probably thinks he’s going to be first but he doesn’t realize he’s actually just saving my spot. No one leaves my baby standing on her wedding day.”

 

River can’t help but smile at her mother’s upset. “Are you all making the list up as time goes by?”

 

“A bit.” Amy allows. She then steps back, speculating River and fully appreciating the sight that her son-in-law is missing. “But I think you in that dress is going to do him in before any of us can even get our hands on him.”

 

“Oh, you.” River shakes her head at her mother fondly. “You’re too kind.”

 

“Honestly, River, you look so beautiful.” Amy blinks back tears. “I’m not over exaggerating this. You look….” Amy decided to act on her best Doctor impression, even waving her hands in the air a bit for emphasis. “ _Yowzah_!”

 

River laughed heartily, “Alright, alright! Please never do that again.”

 

“Sorry.” Amy grinned, her nose crinkling.

 

“No,” River got a calculating look about her, “but evidently he will be.”

 

“River…”

 

“Help me out of this dress.”

 

 

*

 

 

Tabetha and Augustus Pond had been waiting right outside the room their daughter and granddaughter had locked themselves away in so Amy had no chance to avoid them upon sneaking back out to find Rory.

 

“Goodness,” Tabetha hovered worriedly, “how is she?”

 

“River’s okay, mum.” Amy informed her mother. “She’s feeling a bit down. I think she wants to go home now.”

 

Augustus Pond gasped, “But it’s her wedding day!”

 

“ _A_ wedding day.” Amy corrected. “She’s had several. This one just isn’t going to work out.”

 

“But we’re all here!” Tabetha cried. “We all _know_ now! She’s got that lovely dress on, it’s so unfair!”

 

Amy can feel a headache on the way. Calming ruffled hens is going to be nigh impossible in this situation. She ought to try at it anyway, anything so long as River doesn’t have to.

 

“I know, okay?” she spoke calmly. “But this stuff sort of happens all the time and all over the place and sometimes it just doesn’t work out.” Amy frowned. “Sometimes it’s not possible. She wants to go home and I want to get her home, safe and sound, while it’s still early.”

 

“But…” Tabetha sputtered, “but it’s marriage! Marriage doesn’t work _itself_ out, Amelia. People have to make sacrifices to make it work! There’s no other way to do that without two willing participants!”

 

“Aye.” Agreed Augustus. “Your mum’s got it on point there.”

 

“Mom, dad, it’s different for them. They’re…” but Amy couldn’t explain it, even if she tried it wouldn’t make sense to her parents. Some things can’t be told, they have to be lived.

 

“I need to go find Rory.” Amy said. “Please leave her be.”

 

She walked on past her parents and their heartbroken looks.

 

 

*

 

 

“So,” Clara stood beside the Doctor, “this is Leadworth. Is it bad I’m not impressed?”

“You watch yourself.” The Doctor scolded, eyebrows radiating disapproval. “Amelia Pond lived here. Or is living here, somewhere.” He waves his hand among their surroundings. “So is the Roman. Might be at the wrong time, you never know with these things. You insisted on coming here.”

 

“ _I_ insisted!?” squawked Clara.

 

“Yes, you kept nattering on about it! What am I left to do when you get your big girl bossy pants on? It’s not like you’re Handles and I can shut you down with an off button, believe me, I’ve tried.”

 

Clara bristled at that. “I don’t know why any of us puts up with you. You big, rude, wannabe pensioner.”

 

“That hurts, Clara.” The Doctor started to wave his hands around again, as if it were to make any difference if they stood at the same spot for another ten minutes. “We’re in the wrong time, obviously!”

 

Clara groaned, eloping her arms with his and dragging him along and away from the Tardis. After more minutes of aimless wandering she found herself suggesting plans of action.

 

“Let’s just ask someone.”

 

“Ask someone?” he chuckled wryly. “Ah, yes, I’ve not thought of that.”

 

She smacked him on the arm and let go. “Fine, then we separate. Go on, off you go and do your own thing.”

 

“You think I’m stalling.” He stated, quickly taking offense to her assuming tone.

 

“You said it.” replied Clara with a smirk. He needed a push, she’d give him one. “First one to the bride wins.”

 

“You don’t play games with me, Clara Oswald.” He smirked back. “I always win.”

 

“If you can keep up.” Clara grinned, off on her own way and allowing him to go off and find his.

 

 

*

 

Amy found Rory and his dad outside of the building, seemingly squinting at nothing. “What are you two doing out here?”

 

“Sounded like…” Rory’s voice carried off and he winced. “I don’t know. I thought I heard him.”

 

“Me too.” Brian supported. “I mean, I know I only went off with you three a few times but it’s a hard sound to miss when you know what it is.”

 

Amy nodded, clearing her throat and beckoning Rory over.

 

“What is it?” Rory asked quietly.

 

“She’s done, Rory.” Amy shrugged. “She doesn’t want to anymore. It was a bad idea.”

 

“He’s going to be here any minute now. He’ll show up, trip over something important and on our lives go.” Rory maintained. “He always does.”

 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Said Amy, defeat written in her every feature.

 

Rory dipped his head, relentless, until Amy met his eyes. “He’ll show. Just go and make sure the bride is in better spirits, lest we have a shootout on our hands.” He paused, oddly smiling at the memory of another wedding they’d been attendance to. “Again.”

 

“And here we wonder where she gets her weapons fetish.” Amy deadpanned. Rory rolled his eyes and sent her back on inside.

 

“Okay, Dad,” Rory turned back to face his father, only Brian Williams was gone. “Where did you go off to now?”

 

With the shake of his head, Rory Williams sought out to find him in time for the ceremony. It would do no one any good if another important member of the party went missing.

 

 

*

 

 

Clara wandered through the place of Leadworth, passing a duck pond with no ducks, deep in assessment.

 

“If I were having a wedding here, where would I have it?” she tapped her lips with the tip of her finger. She turned her attention to the people walking by and her eyes caught on one very strapping looking gentleman. He was dressed very fancy, too fancy. Clara hurried to catch up to him and cut him off.

 

“Hello!” she greeted once in his way, hoping her smile wasn’t too eager.

 

The blond bloke blinked at her with wide eyes. “May I, erm, may I help you?”

 

“Clara,” she extended a hand, “and I was hoping you might.”

 

He took her hand warily. “I’m Jeff.”

 

“Jeff, eh?” Clara looked around, making sure the Doctor was nowhere in sight. She couldn’t have him ruin any progress she was making, no matter how scared he was. You don’t run out on the people you care about, end of.

 

“Live here long, Jeff?” she asked this tall, handsome stranger.

 

“Born and raised. I commute for work though so I’ve not been back for a while." he confided.

 

“Good. That’s good. Now, you’re in fancy dress.” She motioned to his very fashionable black tux. “Any particular reason for that, a wedding perhaps?”

 

A smile of recognition spread over his face. “Oh, are you here for the Pond wedding too?”

 

_Score!_ “You’re darn right I am!” Clara giggled happily. “But I’m not from here so I’m lost. Mind giving a girl a hand in her time of need?”

 

Jeff brightened considerably and offered his arm. “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

 

“Oh, don’t call me ma’am, Jeff. Makes me feel older than I already am.” She took his arm, his smile now as wide as her own. “Just lead the way and make sure we’re not late for this wedding and we’ll get on swimmingly!”

 

“So, how exactly do you know the Ponds?” Jeff inquired as they walked.

 

“Oh, Jeff,” Clara sighed, “that is a long, long story. How about you go first?”

 

“We’ve all got that story around here.” Jeff relayed, going on to tell Clara of how he first met this Raggedy Doctor his old friend Amy Pond never stopped going on about.

 

 

*

 

 

The Doctor soniced open the back door to the church and snuck inside. This really isn’t the kind of place he’d be caught dead in but going by the ruckus up front this is the place of celebration for the day. This is all highly ridiculous, he can’t be a _groom_ , not this face. He could go and find Clara, take her hand and head to the future as he had planned. Far away, where this entire happening is just a minor blip on the Tardis monitor, just point A to point B, but may the heavens help him he wants to _know_. And he wants to see her again, his wife, even if it’s just from afar.

 

“There you are!” came a voice up from behind him. He pushed his sonic inside his coat and turned, wide-eyed and finding himself face to face with Amy’s Aunt Sharon.

 

“We’ve been looking for you all over!” the woman cried, taking his arm and dragging him along with her.

 

_Could she possibly know this face? Has he been here before?_

 

She took him through the small back room he’d broken into and around the isles of free seats still waiting to be taken. All thoughts come to a halt as he’s shoved up past the groom’s placement and up to the altar. She hands him a book of matrimony.

 

“Oh, you found him.” _Amy._ He follows the voice to the entrance of the room and finds her, there, so alive. Amy Pond. The smile that spreads feels odd on this face. Wrong, somehow. Like he can’t get it quite right.

 

“He was out back.” Aunt Sharon tells her niece before tossing a rotten look his way. “Probably sneaking off.”

 

“Who wouldn’t?” Amy half-laughs, but he can see she’s tired out. She looks wonderful, dressed modestly and hair in an up-do. She’s looking just as he’d last seen her. Older, and the glasses perched on her face making those wrinkles on her eyes stand out. She reaches the both of them shortly.   _How close may she be to Manhattan…_ he wonders on that unintentionally, lingering there, so taken aback by her presence that he almost doesn’t catch what she’s saying.

 

“… this wedding is going to happen, Padre.” Amy is telling him, like he’s no one in particular.

 

His brow wrinkles and his mouth turns down in a frown. _Padre?_  

 

“So sit tight, or there’ll be me to pay.” Amy warned.

 

“I beg your pardon?” he finds himself uttering, all his senses being tossed up and jumbled together so he’s nearer to gawking than any kind of authority.

 

“You,” says Amy, “are going nowhere until my son-in-law turns up and marries my daughter. Got it?”

 

The Doctor clears his throat and ignores his entire body flushing at such embarrassment. Amy Pond thinks he’s a pastor here to marry River and himself. Oh, he is so glad Clara is not around for this.

 

“Right.” He replies evenly, setting the book down on the altar and eyeing it distastefully. “I’ll… do that. Yes.”

 

“Good.” Amy smiles then.

 

“Yes, indeed good. Perhaps you could tell me, just so I know, you know,” he grins – wrong feeling or not – he’s helpless to the affection swelling at the sight of her, “where is the bride exactly?”

 

Aunt Sharon turns to her niece rather quickly. “Oh, how is the dear? Poor thing.”

 

The Doctor’s about to tell this woman that River Song is no such ‘Poor Thing’ but Amy’s entire reaction takes precedence. She looks slightly worried and a whole lot more smug than she should be.

 

“Oh, she just popped out for some fresh air.” Amy grins, “She’ll be back any second!”

 

Amelia Pond is so quick to assure that The Doctor can practically smell Rule One like a foul dead stench suddenly set free in the air.

 

He narrows his eyes, “Out for air?”

 

Amy levels his stare, “That’s what I said.”

 

“She’s out in her wedding dress, out there,” he motions outside of the building, suddenly giddy with the absolute madness of this entire wedding thing. River, sneaking off. Amy, letting her. He had missed this.

 

“So,” he nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all, “just to get this straight, the bride is running amuck in her wedding gown where the groom could just run into her and ruin the whole thing?”

 

“He has a habit of doing that anyway.” Replied Amy automatically. That takes all the smile out of him.

 

Amy sighs, pushing her glasses back up against her nose self-consciously. “You just stay put and be at the ready, okay?”

 

The ask is without heart and The Doctor finds himself nodding, watching her straighten herself out and turn around. Her steps echo along the way as she goes back the way she came, down the long isle meant solely to be walked by the bride with Aunt Sharon following at her heels.

 

Amelia Pond, all grown up, at her daughter’s wedding – the mother, the strength, the glue – holding it all together; and he, the Doctor, still seemingly having a knack for letting her down. Time is proof, after all.

 

Eyeing the altar, he retrieves his sonic. “Sorry, Amy.” He says quietly. “The Doctor lies.”

 

He eases out of the room after both women are good and gone, careful to not draw much attention. He’s intent to continue this search for his wife and yet terribly unsure what to do if, no, _when,_ he finds her.

 

 

*

 

 

Jeff leads Clara right up to a very old, conservative-looking church. She blinks up at it with uncomprehending eyes. It really is the last place she’d expected.

 

“A… church.” She says, mystified.

 

Jeff smiles down at her. “I know.” He agrees. “It’s not Amy’s style either. My bet is, her parents wanted it here.”

 

“Parents?” Clara wondered. “As in an actual family setting with… people dear to both bride and groom?” She gulped, the last bit mostly spoken to herself. “As in people who could be put off by a new face to the name.”

 

Clara let go of Jeff’s arm quickly, oblivious to the confusion that crossed the young man’s face. She needed to find the Doctor and possibly stop him from any grand entrances he’s concocted up in that head of his. Meeting the wife again was one thing but a whole room full of relatives and people who obviously mattered to River and her parents, introducing them to this new Doctor… oh, they could be looking at trouble. So much trouble. Especially if the Doctor went and said or did something completely bananas, which he’s like to do. This new face is tricky that way.

 

“Clara,” Jeff uttered, voicing his concern, “You alright?”

 

“Sorry. I’ve, erm, this friend I told you about,” she explained rather badly, “I’ve got to go warn him about the, ehh, the thing. Bye.”

 

She turned in the opposite direction from where Jeff had been leading them toward the front of the church and went along the side, sneaking around the corner quickly, only to walk face first into the Mother of the Bride.

 

 

*

 

 

Searching for his father led Rory right up to the bright blue box parked farther away than it had any right to be. He marched right up to the box and gave a knock.

 

“Doctor,” Rory called, “Doctor, I’m coming in.”

 

The doors opened under his hands, only the sight Rory Williams met was beyond bizarre.

 

For starters, the Tardis was different on the inside, not just bigger. It had a metallic-style to it and the top of the console spun around, words engraved in Old High Gallifreyan. Round things and books lined the top portion of the room, stairs leading up to them every which way.

 

Rory took hesitant steps towards the console and laid a hand on her. The Tardis rumbled a hum out at him, and he smiled.

 

“Still the same then,” Rory muttered, more than a bit relived. “You’ve got any idea where I can find your pilot?”

 

The Tardis did not give Rory an answer but he did glimpse sight of his father sitting on a chair in the upper portion, fast asleep. Rory climbed the stairs quickly to get to him.

 

Brian Williams had a book plastered atop his chest as he slept titled _The History of the Time War_. The title grabbed Rory’s attention but, priorities at hand, he set it aside carefully and woke his father.

 

Brian woke with a start and looked bright eyed at his surroundings. “I found him!” the older man exclaimed.

 

“Yeah, I think we just missed him though.” Rory smiled down at his dad before helping him up and out of this new and yet unknown Tardis.

 

The Williams men shut the doors and started on back to the church. Rory felt a tug on his elbow about halfway back.

 

“Bit weird in there.” Brian told his son.

 

Rory nodded readily, then shrugged, pointing out: “Bit weird everywhere, actually.”

 

 

*

 

 

After her mother helped her out of her wedding gown, River slipped on her vortex manipulator and went off to find him. It proved easier than she’d imagined and she tracked him down fairly easy. He and his Tardis were parked off in some random planet, companionless – or so it would seem. 

 

She’d dragged him back to the Tardis by his bowtie and asked the Old Girl to choose a proper planet all on her own. When the Tardis landed, then proceeded the dropkicking of an ageless god and sending him out to land on his arse without an explanation as to why. Spoilers, after all.

 

In all likelihood, it probably took more than a few hours to accomplish all of that _and_ pilot the Tardis back to a safe place, but to those in Leadworth it would seem River had only been gone for the blink of an eye.

 

_Time travel_ , she mused happily to herself as she climbed back into her dressing room from the side-window. 

 

She set her vortex manipulator away first thing and then eyed her wedding dress. It was a lovely piece, even she had to admit that. As she redressed, she found herself feeling a tiny bit badly about leaving her husband stranded as she had. He had done nothing wrong… _yet_. It did get ever so exhausting waiting for him to catch up some days.

 

River was looking at herself in the mirror, putting the small veil piece atop her head, when there was a suspiciously familiar clicking sound. Someone was unlocking the door her mother had locked from the outside.

 

 

*

 

 

“My god, I am so sorry.” Clara repeated to Amy for the millionth time. She was stuck holding the newly cracked glasses belonging to the other woman while the redhead was busy seeking out her husband’s first aid from the boot of their car. 

 

“It’s fine.” Amy assured Clara and smiled back at her kindly. “I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”

 

“Oh?” said Clara, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Mind sharing with the class?”

 

“Ah-ha!” Amy exclaimed, pulling out the first-aid and then dragging Clara with her to the nearest bench.

 

As Amy looked through the contents in the box, Clara could see the red bruise swelling beneath the woman’s left eyelid. She was on the same boat, being amongst the injured herself. A lovely red scrape now decorated above her right eyebrow, split open from the force of smacking straight into _the_ Amelia Pond, and all for being too sneaky and not having the decency to make sure where she was going.

 

Gentle as she was, Clara still winced as Amy dabbed some medicine across her brow.

 

“So,” Amy spoke conversationally, “where is he?”

 

Clara blinked, swallowed, and then blinked again. “Who?”

 

“The Doctor.” She took her ruined glasses from Clara and stuck them in the aid kit before shutting it. Amy pushed the item aside and faced Clara, expectant.

 

Clara stared.

 

“You’re not from here. I don’t know you, but he does.” Amy told her confidently. “I know it, I know _him_ , and I know the look. The one you have, the one I had in the beginning. Before it was just running away. Please,” Amy begged her, “it’s my daughter’s wedding and I need to know, where is he?”

 

“I don’t know.” Replied Clara honestly. “But he’s here. Somewhere. I’m just not sure if he’s who you’ll want him to be.”

 

Amy’s grin was one of relief. “He’s the Doctor, Silly. He always is. And that’s all we need him to be.”

 

 

*

 

 

The readings on his sonic were infallible and the vortex number that showed up alongside said readings, well, he knows them.

 

“Out for air indeed.” The Doctor whispers to himself, trying to figure out how to approach the doors his wife is no doubt hidden behind without attracting too much attention. It’s going to prove a bit rough, going how Amy’s parents are practically holding guard of the area like it’s a bloody siege.

 

He flicks his sonic out, waving it at the couple, and pushes the button. Augustus’s phone goes off.

 

“It’s a text.” He tells his wife, upon pulling it out and reading it. “Amelia, she said she needs our help out front.”

 

“But… but River.” Tabetha motions to the doors.

 

The Doctor chose this the opportune moment to step in.

 

“She’s a big girl,” he says, walking up to them both, “but you’re right. That’s why Amy sent me to look after her in your place.”

 

“And just who the hell are you?” barks out Tabetha, much to the Doctor’s surprise.

 

“Now, dear,” Augustus reprimands, “If Amelia sent him, then our River is in good hands. Isn’t that right, sir?”

 

The Doctor nods his agreement.

 

“Absolutely. You best be off now, I heard something about exploding cars or something, messy business you’ll want to deal with right away.” He maneuvers both parents away from the door. “Off you go. Bye, bye.”

 

Augustus and Tabetha eye him queerly before he sets an eyebrow at them. That gets them moving fast enough.

 

He sonics the door and it unlocks.

 

The Doctor reaches out and grabs at the knob, holding his breath. Turning it and finding that he can’t quite push it open himself – not yet – he lets it go, and so the door lies open only a fraction of a gap.

 

The sensation gripping at him is overwhelming. This intense _want_ of her that has his whole being responding, as if he can feel her – outwardly – from the small little space between the doors that peeks into the other room. He catches a whiff of the scent, her perfume, it’s tangled with the air and, really, it’s just another thing to draw him in.

 

He lays his palm on the wooden surface, exhales, as the wanting reaches out and in, pulling at him by the heartstrings and weakening his restlessness. He pushes the doors open.

 

There she stands, in front of a mirror. His wife. In a wedding dress. Waiting.

 

Her back is turned to him and The Doctor can feel his throat closing up and he swallows, quite helplessly, tears gathering – of frustration, of happiness, of too much and not enough.

 

Her eyes meet his in the mirror.

 

“Who are you?” she asks, and it knocks the breath right out of him.

 

Then she’s sniggering. He blinks, turns around, steps inside and closes the door behind himself.

 

“River?” He starts, unsure.

 

“Oh,” River laughs on heartily, “your _face_!”

 

The Doctor stares at her. “You know this face then?”

 

“No.” She answers, straightens, and shrugs. “But you’re holding a sonic screwdriver and dressed, oddly very well..." she trailed off. “Anyway, call it an educated guess. It was worth it however, for your reaction alone, I’ll have you know.”

 

River turns around, and he gets the full look at her dress. His throat is constricting with emotions again, she looks….

 

“So,” she interrupts, sounding less warm than he’s used to and rather more irritated, “what sort of time do you call this?”

 

“Late.” he answers practically. “Generally.”

 

The tip of her lips curl up at that.

 

“This new face letting you confess your mistakes this time around?” she inquiries of him, inching closer to him very carefully, like one would a frightened animal. He takes one or two steps closer himself, slipping the sonic away.

 

“Would that please you,” and the pet name slips quite effortlessly, “dear?”

 

“What would please me, sweetie,” River says, voice gone quiet and all husky at the edges, “is not getting left on the altar on my wedding day.”

 

“You don’t deserve that.” he relies, upon reaching and meeting with her, face to face.

 

“No,” she agrees. “I don’t.”

 

Rive doesn’t flinch upon her inspection of his new face. Her breath comes out in soft puffs of warmth that he can feel on his cheeks. It’s dizzying. She is leaning in closer, her eyes taking him in with giant, awestruck wonder. He can’t help marvel right back at her own face, so close to his, right there, if he just leant forward and ….

 

“Oi!” Amelia Pond shouted, surprising him out of his wits so spectacularly that he actually jumped.

 

Husband and wife turned to find the entire brood there. Amy, Rory, their parents, and Clara Oswald included.

 

“Interrupting, are we?” Clara mouthed, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

 

Before he could reply, Amy was marching right up to him, laying an awfully hurtful punch to the top of his right arm.

 

“Ahh _ggghhh_!” he groaned painfully and grasped at the injured area.

 

“How dare you?” Amy demanded at him.

 

For a second he thinks she’s still under the impression that he’s the minister, or father, or whatever you call them these days, but she continues.

 

“Waltzing right in here in plain sight and not tell me it’s you!” hurt flashes across her eyes and he frowns.

 

He cast a glance at River. “I got a bit preoccupied. Wife in a wedding dress and all.”

 

“ _That’s_ the Doctor?” Brian Williams asked, confused. Amy’s parents had the very same expression upon their faces.

 

“Remember when River was Mels?” reminded Rory helpfully.

 

And that seemed to settle _that_ for the small group.

 

The Father of the Bride then excused himself through family members and stepped right up beside the Doctor, eying the new face with squinted eyes. “Bit old this time around.”

 

“You really want to talk age with me, Centurion?” the Doctor snapped back.

 

“Oh, he’s massively cheeky this time around!” River grinned, delighted at the thought.

 

“And Scottish.” Amy commented, eyebrow raised but a smile was in place.

 

“He’s a right pain this time around.” Supplied Clara with the shake of her head.

 

The Doctor harrumphed at that. “You’ve got me all wrong! If you want cheek…” he waved a hand at his current companion, “Look at that one.”

 

“Grumpy too.” River mutters, making her way towards Clara. “Professor River Song,” She introduces with a hand extended, which Clara readily accepts. “Now, what else can you tell me about this one?”

 

The Doctor doesn’t quite know exactly why his heart goes straight to his stomach at that point. Clara’s grin is wide and toothy. “How long have you got exactly?”

 

“Mmm,” River hums at the girl appraisingly. He can’t pinpoint why, but having River like Clara makes all the difference in the world. “For this bit of gossip?” His wife’s eyes twinkle as they look back at him. “Ages.”

 

“Erm, sorry to interrupt,” Rory breaks in, “but the church is only booked for the hour. In fact, we were supposed to _start_ ages ago.”

 

“Mister Pond is right.” Amy went and grabbed at the Doctor’s arm. “You’re coming with me, Raggedy Man. Everyone,” she shouted, “places! Let’s get this show on the road!”

 

 

*

 

 

It should be daunting. He supposes it is, but not in the ways he’d expected. River, in that dress, walking down the aisle, with her family and friends, people more accustomed to his past life surrounding him, accepting him as he is, as _they_ are, so readily… it’s humbling, and for the first time in many years, the Doctor _feels_ loved.

 

He’s hasn’t the vows written down, hadn’t planned them at all, but when the time comes and it’s his turn, he has the words.

 

“You tore a world apart for me once, a very long time ago.” He near whispers, his wife’s hands in his, “You said I was loved,” and he smiles, it doesn’t feel so wrong with this face, not when it’s being looked at by her.

 

“By so many and so much, you said.” He recites from the memory, as if it were just yesterday. Tears gather in River’s eyes and he wipes away at the one that slips through. “And yet, all these years have passed, and I’ve never been loved by anyone more than you. River Song, Melody Pond, idle gossip aside, I hope you know that in my hearts you’ve only ever been the woman who married me.” He kissed her palms. “Thank you.”

 

River’s smile was unmatchable. “You’re very welcome, sweetie.”

 

 

*

 

 

Amy stands in the first aisle beside her husband, both Ponds watching the Doctor and their daughter get married amongst family and friend alike.

 

“I didn’t know he could be so romantic.” Rory whispers over to her, when the Doctor finishes his vows.

 

“Me neither.” Clara, standing on the other side of Amy, confessed. The girl had a look of bewilderment on her face and wrinkle appeared in her features when the groom was instructed to kiss the bride. “Bleh.”

 

“Amen to that.” Amy laughed, automatically clapping along with everyone else once the happy couple had been well and properly married, finally making their way down from the altar.

 

 

*

 

 

He’s spent a month with the otters when his wife comes back for him. She seems older and, dare he say it, happier. When she apologizes she hands him a brand new fez as a peace offering and he grins, taking her and it in his arms and holding her tight. It’s so good to see her.

 

“What did I do?” he asks eventually, because a month is a long time and he’s properly sorry about whatever it is his future self has done.

 

“Spoilers, Doctor.” River answers. She strokes his face, lingering more than usual on his spectacular chin. “I do adore all of your faces.”

 

He wonders on that statement but he’s not given the time to prod after the could-be-revelation because River then proceeds to snog him stupid.

 

 

*

 

Being back in Amy’s childhood home is bizarre, but the Doctor wouldn’t have it any other way. River’s gone off for a quick errand, but she’ll be back soon. She’s not so bad with landing on time, as he tends to be, so he decided to wait for her to get back. He ends up roaming outside, alone. It’s dark out, starry sky lighting the night as he lays a hand on the shed he’d destroyed, once a fairytale ago. He smirks at the evening and how it had turned out. The Wedding, the after party… everything. It’s gone by so very well, he can hardly believe it is all real and happening. A miracle.

 

“Aha!” calls Amy, sneaking up on him yet again. He turns just as she joins him.

 

“Amelia Pond,” he says, “all grown up.”

 

“I could say the same to you.” She returns, bumping her shoulder into his. Amy's got that same impossible grin on her face. "I could get used to this face, actually. Eyebrows and all. Scottish suits you."

 

His hearts warm at the compliment.

 

“I miss you.” He finds himself revealing, knowing that it’s really all he can say on the matter.

 

Amy doesn’t look like she understands, but she says it back anyway.

 

“I miss you too. I’m glad you found someone though. Me and Rory, we’re thinking of stopping, have been for a while, but we weren’t sure…” a pause, “Clara seems good for you.”

 

“She has been.” He agrees wholeheartedly.

 

“Good.”

 

They go quiet, the two of them, and Amy’s head drops on his shoulder with a sigh. They stare at the shed together.

 

“It was good though, wasn’t it?” Amy asks him suddenly, a sadness catching up to her at the realization of Clara, of what it meant. Of time and change.

 

“It was the best.” He assures her.

 

When he looks back at her, he sees Amelia Jessica Pond looking back at him, and he doesn’t feel like just another face, he feels like the Doctor.

 

“Doctor,” says Amy “have you danced tonight?”

 

“Oh, Pond,” the Doctor grins, “thought you’d never ask.”

 

He allows Amy to lead him back inside her parents’ home. She decidedly names this dance the ‘Dad Dance.’

 

Clara’s not like to let him live it down, ever.

 

 

*

 

_[  BACK  ON  TRENZALORE  ]_ **\- aka, the beginning of it all.**

 

It’s getting harder to breathe. Still, he pulls out the psychic paper, reads it to himself, and huffs out a laugh. The universe really is out for him, he’ll give it that.

 

_I’M GOING TO KILL YOU ALL OVER AGAIN_ – says the message, angrily scrawled in his wife’s handwriting.

 

“No, you won’t.” he whispers to no one in particular.

 

He’s rereading the reasons she’s angry with him this time. Here he is, dying, waiting for Clara to show up because she’s not far behind, never is, and he can’t get this soppy, maddening grin off his face.

 

He’s missing one of their weddings. An important one by the looks of it, why he’s only just getting this message on the psychic now is a mystery. Oh, dear, there’s even some threats in Amy’s handwriting. It all kind of topples onto him at this point. Maybe this is the reason behind River shoving him out of his Tardis flat on his buttocks to live with otters for a month that one time. She never specified of why she’d been so cross but if this is her reasoning then he can finally agree that the swift kick to the chest and marooning him in that otter’s nest was very well deserved. His chest couldn’t help swell with pride. _Good on you, honey._ He grinned, wincing slightly at the remembered memory of River’s boot covered foot coming in contact with his chest. She had effectively kicked him out of his own Tardis, literally. That was not a story he wanted to tell to anyone, ever. The town of Christmas would never hear of it, not from his lips.

 

His face is young again, he can feel it, but his movements come too slow and he’s tired, so tired, a dead man standing. It fills him with sadness that he can’t be there to wed his wife again, not this him, but he has a plan. Clara will help, he knows she will, no matter what. She _has_ to. She’s his Impossible Girl. If anyone can turn it around and make impossible things happen, she can. So with the last breath he has, he wills himself to make a house call.

 

The town called Christmas is all around him and it’s very odd, talking between now and the yet to be lived future. He can even hear himself on the other end of the line. Older. And gone grey – according to his companion. Clara’s not dealing as well as he’d hoped, he can tell just by the sound of her.

 

“Please, hey, for me,” he begs of her anyway. Selfish old man with selfish reasons among his priorities for making this call, not just to say goodbye. But for his sake, for _River’s_ , he must.

 

“Help him.” he tells Clara. “Go on. And don't be afraid.”

 

He told River that once too, a very long time ago. Rule 7.

 

“Goodbye, Clara.” He says sadly, and whispers, “Miss ya.”

 

He lets the phone go and it bounces against the Tardis doors with a big clank. Panting, he heads inside the Tardis.

 

“My time is running out, but no worries, dear.” He speaks aloud, voice assuring, as if River’s there and listening. “I’ve got a plan.”

 

He reaches the console with limping steps and then descends beneath it. He smiles while preparing himself the message along with coordinates, a bit smug with how clever this all really is. Because miracles happen sometimes, and if there is a chance, even the slightest, that this is one of those _almost_ impossible things, then he’s going to take it.

 

“The Doctor,” he exhales, smiling and wishing he could see River’s face at the sight of him, of this new Doctor. “Honey, he’s a comin’.”

 

Here, in this time, for him, she’s long dead, as he will be soon. But out there, somewhere, she’s so very not, and neither is he.

**Author's Note:**

> [(THIS)](http://i1342.photobucket.com/albums/o777/youlooklikethunder/gemy-maalouf-2015-bridal4-4151-BACK_zps7e12f674.jpg) is the specific sight/dress River was wearing when the Twelfth Doctor walks in on her - [(SOURCE)](http://www.theweddingnotebook.com/lookbook/gemy-maalouf-2015-bridal-collection/).
> 
> Specifically set for the 12th Doctor/Clara sometime after _8x08 Mummy on the Orient Express_ and _8x09 Flatline_. The Ponds are after _7x02 Dinosaurs on a Spaceship_.  
>  The Eleventh Doctor at the end is, of course, at Trenzalore about to regenerate, but this particular bit takes place before he calls Clara in _8x01 Deep Breath_. In fact, you can even attribute him seeing Amy when he regenerates to this if you want to.


End file.
